Crash Course in Drunken Cultural Mixed Signals
by Aurora Musis Amica
Summary: Just because you're best friends and have seamless translators it doesn't mean misunderstandings won't happen. Garrus misreads a simple human interaction, is heartbroken, gets drunk, and it's up to Shepard to fix things.


The mission had been a success. All the scientists safe, Jacob Taylor safe, all well that ends well.

And Garrus Vakarian had had no part in it. Instead, he'd sat in the cockpit with Joker and EDI, listening in to the combat chatter and wishing he was the one down there, and knowing why he was not.

Now they were at FTL en route to their next location, Garrus had no idea where, because he was out of favour. The battle on the Citadel had been fierce. Shepard had chased the bastard Kai Leng across a large stretch of open presidium space, and Garrus, determined to stick to her six and take down anyone who tried to stand in her way, had messed up. That he was still alive with only bruises to tell the tale, was more a testament to his armour's amazing absorption rating than any particular skill at surviving. Cerberus employed snipers. Mediocre ones, by his own standards. Or his standards until he'd been so target focused on one that another had gotten off a round that had eaten straight through his shields and knocked him out cold.

Shepard hadn't realised he wasn't following her. She'd nearly died from being overwhelmed until his suit had dispensed enough medi-gel to his system to get him back on his feet and pick them off of her at a distance far shorter than he usually managed. He wondered what Vega thought about all of it, the man had picked up the slack like a pro, but...

But he'd failed Shepard. And she'd replaced him, with Ashley. Ashley had accompanied her to Gellix, saved the day, taken the high ground when Shepard ordered her, picked the enemy off at a distance while Shepard did her thing. That was Garrus' job. That was where she had trusted Garrus to be. The best place with the best view. Keeping her ass safe.

An ass he'd probably never be touching again. So now he was drowning his sorrows in the lounge, and strangely not alone. Several other off-duty crewmembers were taking the time off to get just as shit-faced as he was. If he'd not been so drunk already – he'd lost count quite a while ago – he should probably have been talking to them. They were shaken up about the Citadel. Everyone was. The jokes a little too forced, their laughter was a little too loud. Gellix had been a much-needed victory, and now everyone was unwinding while they had the chance.

Even Ashley, hero of the hour. He harboured no particular ill-intent towards her for taking his spot. Shepard should never go for second best. She'd joined him at the bar – they were old friends, after all – and proceeded to meet him, drink for drink.

He'd probably won that contest. Maybe. They'd both lost count. She was currently snoring gently, leaned against the bar, her face completely covered by her hair. It had gotten some booze in it. He was fairly sure it was mostly hers, because his glass was empty.

The door to the lounge opened, and Shepard wandered in. He only looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but his heart nearly made a somersault when she suddenly approached with determined intent.

Until he realised she wasn't going for him, she was going for Ashley.

"Williams."

The human woke up, confused. "Ma'am?"

Shepard's tone was dry. "I see you're settling in."

"Oh, yeah Skipper. Settling. It's.. ah, can I help you?"

"I did want to talk to you about the last mission, but if you're determined to debrief the bar..."

"No, no, that's okay. I'm up, I'm up." She tried pushing her alcohol-soaked hair out of her face, clumsy fingers missing their intended hairs more often than not. She blinked and probably couldn't see a thing. It looked slightly ridiculous, even to Garrus.

Suddenly, Shepard's hand reached out and seized a handful of Ashley's hair, hand fisting near the base of her neck. Garrus stared as Shepard pulled Ashley up on her feet, the drunken woman nearly stumbling as she tried to follow the movement without getting scalped.

"Now, you're up, Williams. And if I may make a suggestion, one Spectre to another? I think it's time for a shower. A long one." She continued pulling her by the hair out into the corridor and all the way to the elevator, depositing her unceremoniously inside. "And if you don't have any hair ties, you can borrow one of mine."

Garrus had followed. He was staring at Shepard. She'd grabbed Ashley by the hair. Right in front of him. In view of everyone. And just... was she going to follow her to the shower now? The elevator had already left, hadn't it?

A memory, from the Normandy – the old one – sprung unbidden into his mind. He'd been working on the Mako in the cargo bay, it was in the middle of the skeleton night-shift, and he'd had a case of the munchies. He'd come up to the mess hall, and found Liara – then Dr. T'Soni – in deep conversation with Commander Shepard, though something struck him as odd. Shepard had been sitting with her back towards Liara, who was doing... something... with the human woman's hair.

Curious, and unwilling to barge in if it was a private conversation, he stayed where he was in the corner.

"You know," Liara was speaking, her educated tones soft from awe. "The exoanthropologists at our universities used to write entire thesis on the nature of human hair."

"Yeah?" Shepard sounded amused, her head swaying gently every time Liara drew the _comb_ through Shepard's hair, catching at the tips as though there was a brief moment of resistance before it was released.

Garrus wasn't certain he should be listening to this conversation – even though it was just Shepard indulging the archeologist in her curiosity.

"Yes. At first the Asari believed it signified social standing, akin to humps on a Krogan. Then, when they didn't see a correlation between having much or little hair, and status in society, they began looking at colouration."

"Really?"

Shepard was sounding oddly contented, almost as if drugged, though Garrus could not see how a simple inanimate object such as the comb could produce that reaction just by drawing it through her hair. As far as he understood, human hair itself had no nerve endings beyond those located on the scalp.

"There were theories, on how colouration indicated intelligence and emotional aptitudes."

"Like, blondes are dumb, brunettes are boring and redheads have tempers?"

Liara hesitated a moment, the continuous strokes halting, though Garrus was fairly sure Shepard was joking. Fairly.

"I have not read the papers myself, though I believe it may have been along those lines, but please understand it was simply... I wasn't implying that..."

"Relax, Liara. They're just stereotypes. Our own, actually."

"I see. May I continue?" She sounded uncertain, but Garrus thought the mumbled reply was something along the lines of 'don't you dare stop'.

There was silence for a while, all the while Garrus considered whether to head back for the elevator and the lower decks, or dare approach. He had a good view of them from around the corner, and he knew that they hadn't seen him. T'Soni he could probably sneak up on, but the human Commander, even happily sedate and with her back towards him, would be aware of his presence if he came any closer. He'd been quite impressed with her abilities, and her insight. She was nearly Turian in her dedication to her duties.

Liara spoke again, "Then they began noticing patterns, in grooming and styles. How men's hair tends to be shorter than women's, and women's more elaborate than men's."

"As a general rule, that's true. There's plenty of exceptions, but it's just a matter of personal taste, for the most part. When it's not a matter of sense."

"Your taste is atypical, is it not? You are military, but your hair is very long. I thought that would be discouraged?"

Shepard made an agreeing noise, her voice still just as dreamy. "The regs for enlisted personnel says it should be tidy and appropriate and may not touch the shoulders while on duty. That's the standard for everyone, but officers are given a little leeway as long as we handle it properly, since we're supposed to know better than to be indulgent. As long as I make sure nobody grabs me by the hair, I get to keep it."

"I can see how getting grabbed would be embarrassing."

"Oh yeah, absolutely shameful, I wouldn't show my face for a week if someone saw it."

There was silence a while, Liara now using her fingers alongside the comb.

"Because this, touching hair, or holding it, is an act of intimacy between humans." she said quietly, indicating her hands caressing the hair.

"Yeah." Shepard agreed. "It's not something you'd do with random strangers, and sometimes it can be, umm...when it's with someone you like a lot it can be..."

"Sexual?" Liara supplied helpfully, completely unashamed, entirely curious. Shepard's reply was a deep chuckle, low in volume. Garrus had never heard one like it before, and had realised suddenly that this was probably a good point to apply a bit of Turian stealth and make himself scarce.

And now she'd just... with Ashley, of all people. Garrus saw blue. He stopped thinking. He grabbed Shepard by the arm and spun her around to face him.

"Why did you do that, Shepard!" He yelled, using every inch of turian body to tower over her. "I'm right here! Am I so screwed in your eyes that you don't even see me standing there?!" He lift his fist, but she put a firm hand on it and startled him out of whatever he was going to say by yanking him in the direction of the elevator.

"Easy, Garrus. Don't do something I'm going to have to make you regret." Shepard said, putting just enough threat and Commanding tone in her words to help clear his mind up a bit. She was sober, he was drunk, and she had her side-arm strapped on. It would be a shamefully short fight if he didn't get his temper under control.

He took a short breath, then a longer more controlled one, and let himself be herded into the elevator. He counted the familiar few short seconds it took to go all the way up to the loft, and as they rose, his stomach plummeted. He... was screwed.

Shepard ushered him into her quarters and the door slid shut behind them.

"Okay Garrus, nice and slow. What's wrong?"

"You have Ashley back, and now I'm not good enough for you anymore!"

"What are you talking about? I don't-"

"I'm the one on your six, I'm the one supposed to seize the high ground. You trust me!" He paused and sat down, partly because the couch was right behind him and if he didn't, he'd sit down anyway, and possibly not so gracefully. "You trust me, right Shepard?"

"Always, Garrus. Is this... I ordered Ashley to the high ground on the mission, is that what this is about? Do you have a problem with Ashley?"

This wasn't about her. "No." Actually, pulling her hair was the source of this. "Yes." But that was because he was unworthy of Shepard. "No."

"Garrus." She knelt in front of him and put her arms on his knees, palms up, resting against his thighs. "Please, talk to me. Help me understand what's going through your head, because right now, I have no idea how to help you."

He wasn't drunk enough not to realise that she was using Turian body language on him. Or maybe it was because he was too drunk to pick out the finer points of her human body language, that it stood out. She was a bit off, though. By the rules governing superiors and subordinates within families, he, being the offending party, should be the one on the floor. The thought depressed him, even now he was getting things wrong.

"Please don't offend yourself," he muttered, putting his hands on hers.

"Offend... myself?" Her lips quirked a bit. "I'm confused, Garrus, but not offended. You're my friend. It takes a lot more than some drunken yelling to get to offended." She squeezed his hands. "What is this about Ashley?"

"You pulled her hair," he accused. There, it was out in the open. She'd be angry at being confronted with her unfaithfulness. He dared a look at her face.

He was probably drunker than he thought, because he couldn't pick out any anger on it. Unless she was hiding it well. That was possible.

"I... yes, do you mean back down in the lounge?"

He nodded, and she look at him for a good long while, during which he twitched a bit and was rather hoping she'd start reaching for the gun, because this lack of anger was starting to get frightening.

"And that's why you're angry?"

He nodded morosely. He wasn't angry, exactly. He was soul-crushed. She'd made sexual invites to another human, right in front of him, as if he wasn't even there. Because he'd failed her. She'd replaced him.

"Okay, right. Crash course in drunken cultural mixed signals," Shepard said, speaking more to herself than to him. She got up from the floor and plonked herself down on the couch next to him. He started sliding off to take her place on the floor, but she stopped him with an arm around his shoulders, her hand on his neck. He soaked up her closeness, enjoying the surely last time they'd be this near.

"I'm not angry at her, Garrus. I rib her about her hair because she used to be sensible about it, and now that she's an officer, she's not. That hairdo is going to get her killed."

That made no sense, Garrus thought. Why did she think he thought she was angry at her? He was explaining this badly. Or not at all, as the case may be. "I don't think you're angry at her," he clarified. "And I don't want to see her dead either."

"That's good." Shepard smiled, relieved.

"I just want to know why I'm not good enough for you any longer."

Shepard blinked. Then she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose with the hand that wasn't touching his neck. She looked pained. He was sorry he was hurting her, but he-

She slid into his lap, legs on either side of him, fitting against him like a hand in a glove, soft flesh melding against hard plates. Ordinarily this would have been an instant turn-on, if he wasn't so bloody depressed. And why was she coming on to him now?

"Alright, spell it out for me, Garrus. How did we go from me pulling Ashley's hair, to you having a heart break?"

"Because you're in love with Ashley."

Now that expression on her face, he'd never seen before. It seemed quite comical. If he was at his best – which he wasn't – he could probably have catalogued it better than disbelief coupled with amusement.

Then she touched her head against his forehead briefly, and his heart fluttered when she spoke.

"I am not in love with Ashley. I am in love with you. Regardless of whatever it is you're thinking – and I have _no_ idea what you're thinking right now – that hasn't changed."

His emotions, so rawly injured, took a pause from their flagellation to pay attention. There was hope born in his chest. Shepard wouldn't lie. Not like this. Not to him, not while sitting in his lap and doing nice things with his body. She was being truthful. She did love him. But...

"Then why did you pull her hair?"

"Because she... wait, hang on." She pulled back so they were face to face, eyes to eyes. Her fingers were on his neck, brushing his mandibles. He chanced bringing his own hands up to hold her hips. She didn't refuse the touch. "Garrus, are you jealous because you think I've somehow stopped loving you and... picked Ashley instead?"

He nodded.

"All because I pulled her hair?"

He shook his head. "Well, no. You replaced me on the mission to Gellix and took Ashley instead. I thought..." gah, this was uncomfortable. But he was beginning to see the misunderstanding, and speaking would help her help them. "That you thought that because I went down against that damn sniper on the Citadel, that I wasn't good enough to be on your squad anymore." Or in her bed, but he didn't add that part. She'd figure that out on her own. In his mind, Shepard and Vakarian were inseparable, bed or battlefield didn't matter. One was the other.

Shepard drew a breath, then bonked him lightly on his head with her knuckles, accompanied by a loud sigh.

"Of _course_ I let you rest after the Citadel. I saw you run yourself ragged to keep up, you were exhausted. You needed a couple of days to get yourself back up to speed, there's nothing wrong with that. Even I have to sit down and take a break now and then, and I... I worry about you. You always have my back. _Always._ I don't want to lose that, not to simple exhaustion, and not to some misunderstanding because you are tired and drunk."

"Oh." That... made sense. A Shepard kind of sense, even. And she probably hadn't told him why he wasn't coming, because she... trusted him.

"Yes, 'oh'." She chuckled wearily and rested against him, letting him take her entire weight. He did so gladly. "I love you, you idiot."

Yes, yes he was an idiot. But at least he was still _her_ idiot. "I love you too, Shepard."

"Good. Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?" He murmured his agreement, and they sat like that, just enjoying the nearness. Garrus' intoxication was running it's course, and he was sleepy, and Shepard's breathing was soothing. He'd almost fallen asleep when felt her draw a breath before she spoke again. "But Garrus?"

"Yes?"

"The hair pulling thing?"

"Yes?"

"I still want an explanation for that."


End file.
